


Monday, Monday

by beccaelizabeth



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-13
Updated: 2007-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccaelizabeth/pseuds/beccaelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen is really not getting the hang of this leadership thing.  Feels like it's made of Mondays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monday, Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Written between seasons, after Torchwood season 1.

"Rough night?" Gwen asked, a smirk not quite hiding in the sympathy.

Owen scowled. He picked up the printout and focused, blinking. Monday to do... Never could get in gear on Mondays. "Right... Gwen, you're doing follow up interviews... Make sure to pack enough retcon, half of Cardiff must have seen that landing. Tosh… telemetry. Jones, background research, archive stuff... you're done with the cleaning then?" Owen ignored the way Ianto went that bit more blank at this. It was his job, always had been, no call getting snarky about it now. "And don't forget the supermarket run. Coffee, chocolate... pot noodles, that sort of thing."

Ianto made some little note on his clipboard, fountain pen as ever at the ready. His other hand, however, ended up in his pocket, and that bloody click-click-click started up.

Owen slurped his coffee and ignored it resolutely.

"Which leaves you, Owen," Gwen said. "Remind me again, you'll be...?"

"Doing the autopsy on the slimer."

The girls looked at each other and giggled, and even Ianto cracked a bitter smirk.

"What?"

"Nothing... Just, sounds familiar, doesn't it Tosh?"

"Rather like yesterday." Tosh nodded.

"And the day before," Gwen agreed.

"And the day before that, when it was in fact Monday," Ianto added quietly, click-click-clicking one more time before he picked up his clipboard again.

"Honestly, Owen," Gwen kept on, "We know you're crap at paperwork, but what's the point of these meetings if you're just going to recycle your list?"

"It's not recycled." Owen objected. "It's... look, there's a huge great alien corpse in the autopsy room, right? Not a mark on it? Dropped dead on our doorstep?" He liked to think he kept that appropriately sarcastic. Whatever his stomach was doing right now – and there was a right rollercoaster going on in there, could reach the top any second – never let them see you sweat.

"Large, slime covered, and unlikely to get more dead." Ianto nodded. "Which is why it waited while we worked with UNIT on containment, briefed the Prime Minister, and spent all day yesterday explaining to the leader of the opposition why he shouldn't be giving interviews about it."

Owen nodded. "So, then. After all that bollocks... One autopsy, first thing."

He got the impression the girls still weren't taking him seriously.

"Look, sod this – you all know what to do, go do it." He dismissed them with a vague wave, then crumpled the day's list until it was reasonably ball shaped and aimed it at the paper bin. The girls got in the way as they trooped out the meeting room. He changed his mind and sent it skidding along the table instead.

Teaboy dutifully went along and picked it up off the floor. He gave Owen a level look.

Owen let him, slouching back in the big chair.

"What?" he said again.

Ianto stuck his hand in his pocket again. Owen waited for the clicks. Instead he just said mildly, "You might want to check your email, before you go down."

"I might, might I?"

"If you haven't yet today."

With that he turned and left. Just like that. Didn't even check the coffee mugs.

Not that Owen's was empty yet. He picked it up and started on fixing that.

Then he put it down again, and went over to the computer.

He'd emailed himself again. And there was that queasy feeling back with a vengeance...

A video message? He pressed play.

"... Stupid thing should say when... Right!" On the screen he faced the camera straight on… or as straight as he could manage. He'd seen himself that pissed in the mirror enough times to know the signs. Wasn't any more flattering from this angle. "This is me, talking to me... It better bloody be me. Anyone else can just piss off, right? ... They gone? Right then – Harper – don't bother. It wasn't Bilis, it wasn't weird aliens from the planet mindfuck, it was... Just another bloody Monday. Alright? Nothing happened – nothing that doesn't always happen. No... research breakthroughs or big revelations, no secrets of the universe. You're drowning in admin. Don't need another day of it. So... present from me to me." Owen on the video held up a glass, then dropped a pill in. He stared at it while it dissolved, then knocked it back.

He was already yawning when he reached forward to turn the camera off.

Owen in the conference room yawned in reflexive response, then finished off his coffee with much the same gesture.

He thought about it for a minute.

Then shrugged.

"Fuck it. Can't have been all that interesting anyway."

He left the mug on the table, then went down to get the knives out and start his day.

*** *** ***

He was up to his elbows in something he could only hope was an internal organ, rib-equivalents cracked wide and held there with a bar just a bit more wobbly than he'd have liked, when the alarm came in.

"Weevil alert..." Tosh read off. "Could be more than one of them. Same patch near the pumping station..."

"Right... fine. We know the drill." Owen said, holding two squishy objects by their least squishy parts and hoping they wouldn't liquefy entirely before he got them identified. "Girls, go get it. Spray, cuffs, Jones does the driving..." He pulled carefully on the thing on the left. Kidney? Could be... If that tube led out...

Gwen's voice was not amused this time. "Owen, Tosh said, there's at least two of them."

"Could be..." Tosh corrected.

Gwen talked right over her. "And you know the spray is useless, lately."

"And if I had ten minutes spare I'd figure out a new one..." Owen answered, lifting the nearly-kidney out carefully and dropping it on the scales.

"But you don't, so you haven't, so we're stuck. Harsh words won't manage this."

"Or you'd be great at it." Owen muttered; probably loud enough for her to hear, but it wasn't like she could be more pissed off these days.

"Leave that mess and get your gun."

Owen glared up at her. Saw her back disappearing as she walked out.

"Who died and put you in charge?" He muttered again – quieter, this time, because they all knew the answer to that one, didn't they? And it left them one gun short.

He swore, threw plastic over the corpse and shoved it swiftly back into the morgue drawer. He left apron and gloves in a heap, headed up the stairs for his coat, and found Jones there with it in one hand and a box of spray in the other.

"Right," Owen said, and took a spray. The coat he took slower, though it was suddenly chilly in here – at least, he shivered. He shrugged the coat on, then noticed Tosh wasn't wearing hers. "Sato, hurry up." Gwen came over with three guns, handed them out. Tosh didn't get one.

"I thought I would coordinate from here. Use CCTV, listen for any more reports..."

"Well, you can do that from the car." Owen gestured. The gun still in his hand, it was a bit more forceful a gesture than he'd intended. The others flinched out of the way. "Look, you can either work this with three, and I can get back to my job, or we're all needed. Get your bloody gun and get in the car." He turned and stalked off for the lift.

Gwen trailed after him, asking, "_Back_ to your job?"

Owen ignored her.

*** *** ***

In the car he checked his gun and sat back, Ianto at the wheel and Tosh playing back seat driver. Owen slid lower in his seat, then slid his dark glasses on. All that working underground, it got to you. Even typical Cardiff weather was still too bloody bright.

By the pumping station the reports ran out, and they were on foot again. "Jones, left, Gwen, right, I'm up here... Tosh, stay with the car. Comms alright? Go!"

Industrial leftovers mixed with sewage stench, pipes sticking out of little structures too small to call a building but plenty large enough to hide a weevil in. Ten minutes of hide and seek, every noise grating on his last nerve, and then Gwen shouted she had it. Owen took off towards her, heard her call it captured, cuffs on and sedative spray working, and what the fuck had they needed him for then? But then he barrelled around a corner and found himself face to face with the other one.

It hissed, crouching.

He hissed right back at it, reflex fast. Looked it right in the eye and strutted forwards, willing it to back down.

The eyes... Fuck, his glasses – this never worked when they couldn't see his eyes.

It charged him and he dodged, fast left and bring the gun up, but the damn thing knocked it out his hands on the way past. By the time he stooped to grab it weevil two was out of sight.

"Tosh, got a runner, just passed me. Heading your way."

Silence... Oh fuck.

"Tosh?"

In the distance he heard screaming, and he took off at a dead run.

Round a corner, saw the SUV, one door open and Tosh on foot. He brought his gun up, aimed – the weevil had her pinned against the back, door gaped open between him and them, but he could see its head, should be enough... But his hand was shaking, and sense memory chose right then to provide him with last time he'd pulled a trigger, when it hadn't been a weevil in his sights.

Tosh screamed again, and a gun answered. Disorientation – then Jones comes round the corner, panting, gun dead straight and pointed at the floor. Two more shots, and twitching legs stilled.

Tosh still made these little noises, a sort of muffled keening, like she was trying to hide it.

Owen shook himself, jogged forwards. Past the door he could see – one weevil corpse, a can of weevil spray, and one team mate, left hand clamped on right shoulder and coat in shreds.

"Fuck..." Owen tossed the gun into the car and dropped down beside her. "Let me see Tosh… Let me see..." Carefully he peeled back what fabric was left, sorted out which flaps were cloth and which were skin. He turned a curse into a hissed breath, got his game face on. Never let them see you sweat. "Okay... Toshiko, look at me - look at me! You're going to be alright, hear me? This is nothing, this is fine. You'll be alright." He got her eyes locked on him, that familiar fear-worship look they got when they knew they really needed you. He bit his lip, then snapped out, "Jones, first aid kit..." Only to find it appearing on his right, lid open. He grabbed gloves and set to work. Oddly, his stomach calmed down for the first time that day. And his hands didn't shake at all.

*** *** ***

Later, that night – late night, with the weevils, live and dead, all dealt with... He sent the others home.

Tosh was in the hospital. She'd be fine, bit of blood, few stitches... even the scars would hide under a t-shirt. Owen rubbed his chest idly, then rubbed his face.

He got up and grabbed a bottle. Didn't bother with a glass. Not that kind of night.

On the way past the locker he got three pills out. Just the three. Wouldn't want to overdose by accident, would he?

His hollow laugh echoed around the Hub as he headed up to the meeting room, and the comfier chairs.

The first long swallow steeled him enough to check his messages. After that it took another to settle his stomach back down. Psychosomatic – had to be. Wasn't like he was taking anything could cause it, was he?

He grinned bitterly; sat there drinking. Spun the little pills of retcon on the table. One, two, three, and goodbye Monday.

Thursday. Friday? Whatever. Goodbye to it, whenever.

He got up, and re-sent himself that email. Waste not, and all that.

Then he sat down again, and stared.

He was just reaching forward when the door slammed open behind him, and Gwen bloody Cooper stormed in.

"Don't you dare. Don't you bloody dare, Owen Harper. What the hell are you thinking? Are you thinking at all?" She swept the pills off the table.

Owen jerked the bottle back out of range. "I'm thinking I've had about enough of this."

"So, what, you wipe it all out? Wipe your memory, go home, wake up wondering what Torchwood is anyway? I knew you were a lot of things, Owen, but I didn't think you were a coward. Leaving us! After today! You know we need..."

"What? What do you need? Someone who can run around and catch Weevils bare handed and maybe shoot a fucking gun when it counts and, oh yeah, maybe be a bit military, figure out formations and maneuvers and stuff like that. Sound familiar?" He drank again.

"If Jack was there today Tosh would have bled to death."

"So I stitched her up. This time last year I hadn't worked on humans all month! Didn't have to. Hardly ever had to, when..." He shook his head. "Fuck it. Fuck all of it!"

"And all of us, and the world as well! We can't afford to lose anyone else. We need you, Owen."

"Oh, yeah, needed me so much when he fired me..." And that led nowhere he wanted to be. Even if he had to pass there every day. "Not the point. Look... look at that lot. The dose is tiny!"

"Just enough to make it Monday again, tomorrow." Ianto supplied, from the doorway. From his pocket, click-click-click, as Ianto looked at Owen steadily.

Owen looked away.

Gwen stared, at the two of them, stepped back until she could keep both of them in view.

"You knew," she accused Ianto, quietly.

He did not deny it.

"None of his fucking business," Owen grumbled. "None of yours, either," he told Gwen, louder. "You made that bloody clear enough. I am none of your business, and you like it that way."

"Oh, don't you go playing that card, Harper. This is not about us."

"There is no us. Never was, right? Just fuck buddies who don't fuck any more."

"This is about what happened today – what Tosh went through! You take that dose, you wipe it out? You come back tomorrow and make the same mistakes."

"A minute ago I'm the bloody hero. Make your mind up, woman. Can't have it both ways."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Owen. A hero would learn from them."

Owen leaned forward and started poking around on the carpet for the pills.

"Owen! Are you even listening!"

"Never what you wanted me for." He looked up and leered.

Gwen spun around and threw her hands in the air, the universal why-me of the put upon.

"Perhaps we could all step back a moment." Ianto walked forwards, bent and scooped up the retcon. "Deal with this in the morning."

"Like you have been dealing with it?" Gwen said sharply. "Ignore it until it goes away?"

"Well we've got the magic go-away pills right there." Owen waved vaguely. Ianto had pocketed them, where they joined the click-click bloody click they'd had to put up with for weeks.

"Insane, the pair of you. Bloody nuts. God, who puts the medic on medical leave?"

"That would be me, actually." Ianto stated it quite matter of fact, as if it were common knowledge.

"Coffee, cleaning, involuntary committal?" Owen quipped.

"Archives, accounts, and internal security."

"Ha! Locking up at night, you mean."

"And other duties as required."

"I require a drink. The rest can just... sod off." Owen supped from the bottle again.

To his great amusement, Ianto went over to the coffee machine. Well, at least Teaboy could take orders. Coffee and takeout... Should he send him for curry?

Gwen had followed him, and a fierce but whispered conference followed. Whatever he said, it worked – Gwen left.

"Halle bloody lujah," Owen observed, to the room in general. "Peace at last." Just the sound of coffee brewing, and Ianto with his hand in his pocket. Background hum, at the Hub.

Owen sat back in the big chair, the head of the table chair he'd gone and taken for himself. He closed his eyes and just let the quiet soak in. The familiar sound of coffee cup on table didn't even get his attention.

The sound of the heavy glass did, as did the precise little clicks as Ianto set three pills beside it.

He watched the other man go and take a seat, pulling something out his pocket first. Round and silver, turned between his hands without much thought as he stared across at Owen. Then Ianto looked down at it, turned it until his thumb was on the button, then started click-click-clicking again.

"So, what? Your turn to talk me out of it?" Owen turned the chair around a little, faced the man, and sighed. "Go on then."

Click-click-click. "You've been doing this all week, and today's the first day the others noticed." Click-click-click. "Apparently your work does not require memory."

Owen glared at him half heartedly. "_My_ work bloody does. At least until I write it up. But _my_ work deliquesced while we were out. It fell apart. It is slime, viscous, green, and chemically inoffensive, if you don't count the sodding smell. Suitable for flushing down the sewer. If you can get it to budge out the corners." He rubbed his eyes.

"I know," Ianto agreed. "I've got all purpose cleaner on it now. I'll have to rinse it off before I leave."

Owen grinned mirthlessly. "Watch that masters degree come in handy, there. Research fifty ways to get the slime out."

"One hundred thirty three, all told. Depending on chemical analysis and supplies." It sounded just a bit too tired to be a joke. And he click-click-clicked again. "Long days, longer nights. Jobs you didn't train for and never wanted. Work that you think's beneath you. Work that would be beneath anyone with the clearance they'd need, so you just get on and do it, because there's nobody else right now." Click-click-click. "And you end the day, every day, wondering if you can do this tomorrow."

Owen just stared at him, then looked at the pills. He leaned forwards and picked them up. "Ah, but I don't have to, do I? I just have to do today. And I know I can." He dropped them in the glass, brought the bottle up and tilted it, carefully, pouring just enough. "I can, do today, again."

"Do it all again. The slime and the blood and all the rest. And at the end of it all, you're going to feel just," Click, "Like," Click, "This." Click.

Stomach churning, head hurting, mouth tasting like... he didn't want to think what. And the other stuff, the... feelings. Owen raised the glass and stared at it a long moment.

"So I'll let you."

Owen looked up, surprised, and found Ianto staring at him with a world of anger in his eyes. Then the watch clicked again and they blinked, and he was just tired. He looked down at it, and sighed.

Owen lowered the glass again. He sagged back in his chair. "Fuck."

"We do that, _I'm_ taking the retcon." Ianto quipped absently.

"Fuck off. Like I'd take Harkness' leftovers..." And even drunk Owen knew that was one sentence too many.

Ianto sat stiffly, fists clenched, watch digging in to his palm.

Owen shifted around, ended up half out of his seat. Didn't know what he'd got in mind really, just... Looked at the floor again. The bottle in his hand presented a solution. He placed it carefully on the table and shoved, sent it over to the other man. When Ianto looked up at him he just shrugged and looked away.

The clicking started up again, and Owen felt the tension ease. Then he snorted. When Teaboy's nervous ticks were an improvement... "Look at us. Torchwood. Above the law, beyond government..."

"Under the tourists and right next to the sewers." Ianto sighed, got up, and pushed the coffee towards him.

Owen looked at it and just shook his head, sat back with glass in hands.

Ianto held out the stopwatch, face towards Owen. Click, and the hand started circling. Click, stopped again. Click, back to the beginning.

"You can hit reset as many times as you like, but it won't change anything," Ianto supplied softly. "Jack's still gone."

Owen stared at his drink one last time, hung his head, then sat up straight again. "And I have to bloody grow up and fill his shoes."

"No."

Owen looked up, eyebrow raised.

Ianto said, "_We_ have to."

There was a moment of solemn eye contact, then Ianto smirked.

"I do more than half the work here anyway."

"Sod off."

"Intelligence, expenses, liaison officer..."

"Command decisions!" Owen tapped his own chest.

"When prompted."

"If you want an office, just say so."

"Well there's one going spare..." Ianto trailed off, not quite able to keep the joke in that. He looked around, saw the coffee cup, picked it up, and held it out to Owen.

Owen hesitated a moment, then took it. The other glass he set on the table, then gave a shove to send it spinning down the length.

As he raised mug to mouth there came the inevitable tinkling crash.

"I'll just get the brush and dustpan then," Ianto said, sounding resigned, yet oddly less weary.

"You do that. I'll just..." Owen waved vaguely, then saw his email program still open. He pointed, but Ianto was already out the room. He slid the chair along until he could reach a keyboard, then went in and deleted that little note to self.

The rest of his mailbox still waited.

Owen finished the coffee, then smirked, and opened the first message. He hit reply. "Dear UNIT, you bunch of sanctimonious pricks. How's the stick?" He sniggered, then sent himself a new note. "Write report on psychoactive properties of slime, because clearly you're under alien influence when you wrote this lot."

Time to remember why this job could be fun.


End file.
